


The Finer Points of Birdsprite Grooming

by Arathe



Series: Bad Romance Book Club [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Grooming, Interspecies Relationship(s), M/M, Rare Pairings, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 13:09:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1511696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arathe/pseuds/Arathe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the downsides to being some kind of birdman freakshow is being put together in a way that doesn't allow for proper grooming. </p><p>In which Karkat is aggressively helpful with unexpected results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Finer Points of Birdsprite Grooming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [complexQuanta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/complexQuanta/gifts).



> Ahahaha okay, this has been laying around for four months 99% complete because I am the actual worst gift-giver. In the fine tradition of better late than never, have some shameless wing kink.
> 
> This is a sequel to How to Make New Friends With Questionable Reading Material, but all you really need to know is that Karkat and Davesprite read terrible troll romance novels together.

Your wings are an endless source of frustration. Sure, they look pretty sweet, but you don’t actually need them to fly and the feathers are forever driving you bonkers. See, one of the downsides to being some kind of birdman freakshow is that you aren’t actually put together in a way that lets you get at them very well. Which wouldn’t be a huge issue, except you’ve got some sort of birdbrain instinct that really, really insists on preening, but you can only reach maybe half of your feathers with your hands, or occasionally suss out a loose feather and pull it with your tail, but that’s about it. It’s irritating, but you can deal.

What really drives you fucking crazy is the _molting_. It doesn’t happen all that often, thank god, but when it does you are itching like crazy for the better part of a month. Which is why you’re currently rubbing your wings against the wall corner like a bear scratching itself on tree. It doesn’t help much, and you should probably stop before you break another pin feather and bleed all over the damn place again, but it’s kinda like that time you had the chicken pox—you know scratching is bad, but you just can’t help it.

“What are you _doing?_ ”

You startle a bit, twisting to look around the corner, where Karkat is standing with a book under his arm, looking at you like you’re a lunatic. You move away from the wall and shake your wings out. “Had an itch,” you say. Nothing to see here folks, move along.

The look Karkat gives you is doubtful, but he doesn’t comment. Instead he just holds up the book, on the cover of which are three Fabio-esque troll beefcakes, and one chick that looks like she just won the lottery. “Wanna read?” It’s like he has an endless supply of bodice rippers, it’s fucking amazing. 

“Sure.” You follow him into the library, because maybe story time with Karkat will distract you from the constant, low-level torture your wings are putting you through. Plus troll romances have kind of grown on you. You haven’t seen a romantic trainwreck until you've read about four trolls constantly swapping quadrants like a game of hot potato, but with more banging. It’s great.

Karkat plops down in his usual chair, and you wait until he gets settled before winding your tail around his leg. He gives you a disgruntled look that is totally feigned. You know this because you’d anchored to the chair leg instead the other week, and he’d fidgeted the entire damn time until you’d finally swapped over to him. It was actually kinda cute, but you’re totally holding that in reserve until you need some prime teasing ammunition. 

You settle down and fluff your feathers a bit as Karkat flips open the book, hoping it’ll alleviate the itching some. It doesn’t, and you check a sigh. This is going to be a really annoying few weeks.

He’s been reading for maybe a half an hour or so when he suddenly slams the book shut, glowering at you. “Okay, what’s your problem? You haven’t stopped twitching since we sat down.”

Whoops. “No problem, sorry. Must just be a little restless.”

“You’ve been floofing and unfloofing the entire time. And your feathers look funny.” He stares at you pointedly.

Oh, hell. If he thinks there’s something wrong he’ll never get off your damn case about it. “I’m molting,” you say. “It just itches a lot, no big.”

Karkat frowns, apparently not appeased by this information. “Molting?”

“Feathers are falling out.” You reach under your arm and yank out one that was about to go by way of demonstration. “See?” Karkat looks horrified and it occurs to you that maybe a little more information is in order before he flips the fuck out. “New feathers are growing in, so the old ones have to go. It’s normal.”

This seems to mollify him somewhat. “Isn’t there anything you can do?”

“Not really, since I can’t reach. Just gotta collect my patience and wait it out.” You yank on his leg a bit. “Now c’mon, you were just getting to the good stuff.” He always gets super embarrassed when he has to read the porny stuff out loud, which is the primary reason you have neglected to inform him that reading Alternian is apparently part of your sprite-power repertoire. Plus you kind of enjoy your stupid little book club anyway.

Karkat rolls his eyes. “You realize if reach is the problem there are a lot of people on this rock who’d be perfectly willing to help.”

You pull your wings in flat at the suggestion. You hate it when people touch them. You would rather engage John in a long, spirited debate on the merit of shitty 80’s movies versus the collected works of Nicolas Cage. It’s awful, because no matter how nice and courteous they might be about it, the curiosity makes you feel like some sort of zoo animal. And on the right we have Dave—sorry, _Davesprite._ Look at that lovely orange plumage, just makes you want to get all grabby, doesn’t it? And let’s not forget the way his feathers fluff right up when he’s startled or annoyed, because that’s fucking _hilarious_ and never gets old. To hell with that, this isn’t the first molt you’ve had to suffer through, and you always get through it just fine. “Nah, I’m good.”

“You’re good.”

“Yep.”

Karkat huffs an irritated sigh and puts the book down, which means story time is over and you’re probably going to get a lecture instead. Dammit. “You aren’t ‘good’ you insufferable, taintchafing twit. You’re miserable.”

You unwind your tail from his leg because you aren’t letting him suck you into this, you’re not. You like Karkat, but you don’t need him to mother you. “Oh, wow. Really? Thanks for clearing that up for me Dr. Phil, I’ve seen the light, I’m a new man. It’s only rainbows and puppies for this guy from here on out. Time to go pay it forward and read to blind children or something. Later, dude.”

You’re about to abscond, maybe go find Terezi and read her a children’s book for maximum irony, when Karkat actually grabs your fucking tail and hauls you to a stop. You stop and stare at him, because did he seriously just _pull your tail?_ You expect some kind of snarky insult, instead you get, “I know you don’t like people touching your wings.”

Which is true, but not actually something you want people to be aware of. “Hey, I know people are eager to get a handful of all this, but I am a proper goddamned lady and I need to be wooed. Chocolates, flowers, terrible poetry. I have standards, you know.”

Karkat just raises his eyebrows, and it occurs to you that he’s developed an alarming immunity to your bullshit. “Look, I get it.”

“You get it,” you repeat, because yeah. Somehow you doubt it.

Karkat releases your tail and gives you a sour look. “If you took a second to look past all your self-involved, overdramatic fucking _woe_ , you might realize that you aren’t the only freak of nature around. So yeah, I might not have feathers, but I do fucking get it.”

Oh. Okay, now you feel like kind of an asshole. How does he even do that? “Then you should understand why I’m not exactly enthusiastic to have someone groping all over me.”

He snaps up his book and goes marching towards the door. “Okay, come on.” When you don’t immediately follow, he pivots on his heel and glowers at you. “I’m not gonna wait all day, let’s _go_.”

“Oh Mr. Vantas, you know I love it when you get all forceful.” Karkat just rolls his eyes and stomps off, and you follow because you aren’t really sure what his game is and you’re kind of curious.

He takes you back to his room and ushers you inside with an impatient wave. That in itself his kind of surprising because he’s usually super-neurotic about his space. You’re not sure why; it looks more or less like any bedroom you’ve ever seen, except more troll. You don’t have much time to look around, because Karkat immediately deposits his ass in the middle of the floor. “Sit.”

If he’s gearing up for some kind of team mom heart-to-heart you are so fucking out of there. You coil your tail like some kind of mutant cobra and sit. “Why are we sitting? Because I feel like I should tell you that I don’t play pattycake on the first date.”

“Because this is probably gonna take forever, so we might as well be comfortable,” he says. “And I didn’t think you’d want to do this in the library where anyone could walk in on us. Give me your wing.”

He has got to be kidding. “Look, it’s fine.” You start to rise, but he catches you by the wrist.

“It’s not fine,” he insists. And okay, maybe it isn’t fine, but it’s just a really fucking uncomfortable annoyance. “Look, let’s just give it a shot, okay? If it really bothers you I’ll stop, and that’ll be that.”

They really are driving you crazy. And it isn’t that you don’t trust Karkat, it’s just that after John and Jade’s well-meaning curiosity, the idea of letting someone touch your wings is really fucking disturbing. Karkat still has your wrist, and you settle back down. You guess it couldn’t hurt to let him try. “Okay.”

It takes some gymnastics to figure out a good position that isn’t completely awkward for you or uncomfortable for him, and eventually you wind up laying curled around his body, your wing splayed across his lap. “What do I do?” he asks.

You’re acutely aware of the warmth of his body through your feathers. “Just kinda comb through them. Remove any loose feathers or broken pieces, that sort of thing. Just watch out for the new feathers coming in—they’ll bleed if you break them.” You aren’t nervous at all, this is a totally stupid thing to be nervous about. 

The instant Karkat touches your wing you snap it back to your side without any conscious thought. Wow, fuck, way to overreact. He doesn’t say anything, just sits and waits, and after a moment you spread your wing back across his legs because there is no way you’re this big of a wuss. This time you flinch when he touches you, but you don’t draw back.

When he seems satisfied that you aren’t going to spaz again, he combs his fingers through your feathers, gentle and slow. Oh god, oh wow, that feels unbelievably good, fuck. You think the way you abruptly become a sprite puddle on the floor startles him, because he stops. “You okay?”

“M’fine,” you mumble. More than fine, jesus. You are suddenly having a hard time remembering why you ever thought this was a bad idea. Karkat takes you at your word, starting up again, a little harder this time, and you shudder all the way down to the tip of your tail. _Jesus._

The asshole stops again, and you would strangle him if you weren’t made entirely of jello. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Speaking is a monumental effort, but you manage. “Dude, I will tell you if I am anything less than one hundred percent okay, stop fussing.” Also stop stopping. He’s fucking killing you with the stopping.

“Oh, of course. Because you're always so open and communicative, how silly of me to think you might be forcing yourself through an uncomfortable situation out of some sort of misplaced prideful idiocy.” Wow, dial back the sarcasm there a little, damn. Besides, your prideful idiocy is never misplaced.

“It feels good,” you say, because that’s probably the fastest way to make him stop bitching and get back to it. It just happens to have the added benefit of being true.

He shifts a little, and for a moment you think he’s getting up, but then he settles. A second later he’s carding his fingers though the feathers where your wing meets your back, and fuck yes. It feels a little like someone running their fingers through your hair, only a thousand times better. You curl around him a little more tightly, snaking your tail over and around his thigh. Which is probably inappropriate as hell, but you’re finding it hard to care at the moment because your birdbrain is tittering like a happy little moron.

Karkat is very methodical and surprisingly gentle. First he’ll make a soft pass, combing from top to bottom with a touch so light that it makes you shiver. Then he’ll work his way down again, searching for loose feathers and carefully removing them. Then he’ll card his fingers down a final time, just hard enough to make you shudder before moving on to the next section and repeating the pattern. You can’t remember the last time you felt so relaxed. 

Somewhere around the middle he does it a little harder, dragging his fingers through your feathers hard enough that you feel the scrape of his claws, and you can’t help it, you fucking _warble_ , and if you weren’t so completely blissed-out you might even care.

This time he doesn’t ask you if you’re okay, just keeps going. You are the strangest combination of aroused and lethargic. You know in that distant, hazy human logic part of your brain that you should probably stop this. Except as Karkat gently works out a loose pinion, you realize you don't really want him to stop. You aren't sure if that's you, or the birdbrain, or if you should even really be making distinctions between the two anymore. It's just been so long since someone touched you without an agenda, even a harmless one. They're your friends and they love you, you know that, but your relationships with them are shadowed by all your shared experiences with Dave. But it isn't like that with Karkat. He has his relationship with Dave, and his relationship with you, and he seems to have no trouble separating the two. He has none of the history that makes it hard for the others to really appreciate you as two separate people.

Karkat gives your wing a pat. "Okay, I'm done. Give me the other one." You're hazy and not really thinking, so you just tuck your wing in and roll over, but the angle’s all wrong and you wind up whapping Karkat in the face, your wing jutting out at an odd slant. He splutters, shoving it out of his face—but gently , you notice, careful not to bend your wing the wrong way—and glares down at you. "I can't reach from this angle, you stupid bird."

"Hm?" God, you're so fuzzy. But it's a good fuzzy.

Karkat snorts and yanks on your wing a little, still gentle, and you chirp a bit, pleased, because you like him. You like him a lot and he's there and you're happy and it's good.

Karkat blinks at you, apparently mystified, then frowns. "You look like you've been into Rose's soporifics." He sounds confused, and a little concerned, and no no, you're _fine_ , you're not drunk, that’s stupid, you don’t even think you can get drunk.

Maybe a little high on endorphins or something though. "'M not drunk," you inform him. And then you reach up and tug on his hair a bit, because he's in reach and you can.

Karkat just kind of stares at you incredulously for a minute before shaking his head and muttering,"No wonder you don't like it when people touch your wings. Now come on, move to the other side if you want me to do the other one."

You definitely, definitely want him to do the other one, so with what feels like a great deal of effort, you unwind your tail from around his leg and curl around him in the opposite direction, laying your other wing across his lap. He doesn't start immediately, and you ruffle your feathers a bit, because what is he waiting for?

"Is this normal?" he asks, and you can't see his face from here but he sounds hesitant. "When people touch your wings?"

"Dunno," you say. "Never let anyone feel me up quite this much before."

Karkat splutters. "I am not 'feeling you up', I’m trying to help!"

He is helping. The itching in your left wing has all but subsided, and you feel fucking fantastic. "You are. A lot. You are helping like a seeing eye dog helps a blind man, like Santa's elves on Christmas Eve, getting shit all packed up and ready to go, feeding the reindeer, loading—"

"Okay, shut up. I don't need any of your incomprehensible human metaphors, I get it." He starts again near your back, and croon a little, pleased. This time you snake your tail around his wrist, because you don't really like the idea of not holding on. This earns you an annoyed grunt, and Karkat peels your tail off and says, "I need my hands, stupid."

Oh. Good point. So you wind it around his waist instead, and he sighs again but doesn't complain.

You aren't sure if he's doing it on purpose now, but he seems to pressing a little harder on his passes, claws scraping a little each time and you're a mess, you're a fucking mess. He's drawing all sorts of dumb bird sounds out of you that you might have been embarrassed about if you were still capable of rational thought, but at this point you just don't fucking care. 

He makes his way across your wing, while you try to simultaneously become one with the floor and also one with him. At one point Karkat has to stop because you're squeezing him too tightly, and you loosen your grip with an apology. The funny thing about it all is that you're pretty sure grooming is a quadrant thing, but fuck if you can remember which one. Karkat's gotta be aware of that, and you wonder if that's intentional, or if he's just being culturally sensitive and taking one for the team. Another firm rake of claws and you twitch, the sound coming out of your mouth is not quite human and not quite bird, but it is one hundred percent 'stop teasing and fuck me already'. Karkat stops again, because you're pretty sure blatant sex noises are universal. You really hope he doesn't stop now, he's almost done, and then maybe he can just fucking pet you forever because the concept of him not touching you is a little hard to parse at the moment.

He swears softly. "You could have warned me that you'd wind up acting like, like some sort of mammal in the middle of mating throes."

"Heat is the word you're looking for," you say, because he's kind of got a point. "Didn't know. And if you stop I'm reasonably sure I'm going to die."

"Stop being so fucking dramatic, you will not die." He doesn't actually sound a hundred percent sure. He sits there without moving for long enough that it's making you squirmy.

"Karkat," you push, a little breathless and wanting and you are never going to live this the fuck down, you're aware of that on some level that's being buried under an avalanche of hormones. Assuming you even still have hormones. 

He swears again. "Okay, okay." He goes back to work and you go boneless. "I think I need to go on record stating that this is not some kind of flushed solicitation," he says.

"Mhm." You guess the grooming is a flushed thing then. You probably shouldn't be as pleased as you are, but fuck it. You've been quietly nursing a bit of a thing for the cranky little fucker for weeks anyway.

"It's not," Karkat insists.

"Okay." You wonder who he's trying to convince— you, or himself. Either way, you're pretty sure he's lying.

He grumbles under his breath as he works a stubborn, crooked pinion out. "There, done."

You ruffle your feathers a bit, experimentally. It feels so much better, holy shit. "Thanks," you say, because they were driving you nuts, everything else aside. You pull your wing back, and you notice Karkat has a not insignificant pile of your feathers in his lap. You know if you let him say anything, let him get up and kick you out, the next time you see him he's going to pretend like it never happened. Hell, so will you, probably.

So when he opens his mouth, you don't let him say anything. Instead, you knock him over backwards and sprawl on top of him, coiling your tail in a corkscrew down his leg. "Hi."

He's staring at you, a little wide-eyed, like he has no fucking idea how to deal with you right now. Which you guess is fair, because _you_ don't know how to deal with you right now. You're painfully horny and pleasantly buzzed, and you don't want him to kick you out. There's a beat where nothing happens, and then Karkat's hands come up. You think he's just going to push you away, but instead he sinks his fingers right into the downy feathers of your ruff, and okay, that's nice. You trill a little, burrowing into the crook of his neck. He clutches the feathers a bit, but not hard enough to pull. "What the fuck just happened? Are you cuddling with me? Humans are so fucking incomprehensible I don't—is this pale?"

"Nope, I am entirely too fucking horny for this to be pale."

Karkat's grip twitches, claws grazing your throat, and you hum against his jaw. You are starting to really appreciate those claws. "What the fuck," he breathes, not even a question. 

"Fucking is good," you agree, even if that isn't what he meant. "Let's do that." It's a little crazy how badly you want him. You aren't exactly equipped like a human anymore, but then neither is he, and you've read enough of those books to have a pretty good idea how it works. You’ll figure it out.

Karkat growls a little and rolls you over, grabbing your wrists and pinning them by your head and fuck _yes_. He's a little off balance because your tail is still wound around his leg, and you realize you should probably unwind it so that he can move, so you do and now he's straddling you. Much better. He releases one of your wrists and pulls off your shades, studying your face with a frown. "Fuck," he says, a little shaky. "Okay, I'm not." He sighs. "I'm not going to pail you, you're completely out of your head right now." You whine a little and he holds up the hand with your shades to stop you. "After you've come out of this weird mating frenzy of yours, if you're still interested well," He looks embarrassed. "We could talk I guess."

He doesn't want to take advantage of you. Which you guess is gentlemanly and all but fucking hell. "Okay, if you say so." You peer up at him and give it one last shot. "Pretty sure I'll still respect you in the morning though." Karkat shakes his head. "Fine."

Karkat rolls off of you, and the two of you just lay there for a while. “This is really not how I expected this to go,” he says after a while, sounding a little dazed.

You hum your agreement. Apparently having your wings groomed is an _enormous_ turn on. Who would have guessed? But you’re happy and lazy, if a little frustrated, except you’re pretty sure Karkat just gave you an IOU of the horizontal mambo front, so that’s pretty nice. Plus your wings barely itch at all anymore. “Can’t say I mind, though.”

Karkat is quiet for a long time before he says, “Yeah, me neither.”


End file.
